One Step Beyond
by Kristen999
Summary: It was supposed to hold the key, a moment to explain everything. He was wrong. Nick and Warrick Friendship.


Title: One Step Beyond (1/1)

Author: Kristen999

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.

Summary: It was supposed to hold the key, a moment to explain everything. He was wrong. Nick and Warrick Friendship.

Notes: I asked a friend of mine to give me something to write in between projects. Challenge me, I said. Her request indeed did just that. She was never satisfied with the conversation between Kelly and Nick at the end of "Grave Danger." She wanted to know why, and what happened afterwards.

* * *

My take on it. Thanks to Beth for the swift beta. Not part of the June challenge, but inspired it.

His hands trembled.

They did that a lot.

Stress they called it. Not that everyone in the known universe hadn't bent over backwards to make sure he didn't know what that word was. It was one whispered in hushed undertones.

Don't forget the fact that there was more than one little brown bottle of prescriptions with his name on it. Yellow tablets, blue pills, and even the tiny white ones. A color for whatever ailed him.

All at the bottom of the trashcan in his bathroom.

Nick scribbled his name on the visitor's log, pen gripped a bit too tightly, his cursive nearly unreadable. He balled up his hand and shook off the tremor. The gruff guard paid him no mind as his name was compared to the approved list of the inmate's visitors.

He looked around, imprinting his surroundings to memory. Who was where, and what they were doing. His law enforcement eyes keenly in tuned to the comings and goings of family members.

They all seemed like they were staring at him.

Nick swallowed. Paranoia was now his constant traveling companion. His eyes drifted over towards the uninterested correctional staff members making arrangements to escort him to the meeting room.

Yep, baldy knew. Dark eyes whose pupils dilated upon recognition of the man in the box. His nightmare on every newspaper for days; reporters who had camped out at his house. Several of whom he knew for crying out loud.

Didn't stop them for sniffing around, pawing for fresh meat.

_"It's Stacey Wallace. Remember me; I helped cover the Rollins' case."_ Fake smiles, familiarity a fun jolly game. Was he now just the Stokes' case?

Or was it filed under Gordon?

He'd have to check the case records sometime to see how exactly it was entered in the computer.

Finally a black and white parked in front of his townhouse to keep them away, like poison laced trails of honey to his doorstep. Damn thing just attracted the wrong type of attention and it finally took him threatening to call Brass to send it away.

Even if it had been Jim who had sent some poor rookie to play guard dog.

It was colder than he expected inside, beginning of summer outside, and he threaded the zipper of his jacket along the teeth to the very top. His hands had now stilled, but for some reason that tiny shiver was now pronounced through the rest of his body.

Delicate vibrations ran from limb to limb, down to his toes. He stuffed his hands inside the warm pockets of his jeans, careful not to shove too hard, the denim a bit looser around his hips than a few weeks ago. Nick rolled his eyes; he'd have to punch another hole in his belt at this rate.

"Okay, follow me."

Speeches memorized in his head, voices of his colleagues warning him not to do this. The feeling of every eyeball in the room upon him.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck, goose flesh all over his forearms, despite long sleeves and the secured feeling of his leather jacket. The tiny hairs along his arms were still growing back after adhesive tape had ripped them all out.

He had joked about not having an even tan where the gauze had covered his brutalized flesh.

No one had laughed at his attempt at humor.

He still didn't wear short-sleeved shirts, even after the welts went away; the swollen skin and glands had subsided, the scabs of scratched up flesh and the hundreds of bites now a faded physical reminder. He could still smell the lingering odor of calamine and oatmeal treatments.

The idea of the repugnant oat's odor made his stomach churn, a cold sweat breaking out in between his shoulder blades. Nick's feet slowed a bit, his heart pounding away with the increased endorphins and adrenaline.

He stopped mid-step now, hand reaching for the hallway, head laid flush against the cool cement wall.

Deep breaths. Nice and steady.

"You okay, pal?"

Except he didn't hear the words, only felt the strange hand on his shoulder. Nick whirled around, slapping at the offensive intrusion into his personal space.

The guard backed away, eying him suspiciously, little gerbil running along the wheel, sizing him up. Fat man checked the chart again, verifying once more that he indeed wasn't some lunatic.

Nick half laughed trying to shake off the impending panic. The sound only served to make the prison guard more on edge, studying the criminalist.

His belly flip-flopped now and swirled up acid ate away at the inside lining. Nick ignored it, like he did most things these days. Mind numbed by Ativan at night, happy pills during the day.

Cold turkey as of two nights ago. When he decided that it was time.

Threw away the antacids the other day as well. Too many rolls, mouth full of chalk made him as ill as the sugary scent of strawberry bubblegum.

The guard was lucky. Cinnamon didn't bother him, nor the constant smacking.

Nick straightened up, cleared his throat, the door to the visiting room loomed. "I'm fine. Just--" He shrugged not finishing his thoughts.

Just trying to figure out what the hell you're doing here, Nicky my boy.

This is gonna cost ya, gonna set you back for days. One step forward three steps back.

He shook his head no, confusing the guard as he forced calmness. _You have to do this. Move on. Get over it. Buck up, and get your shit together._

A human face. All it would take to put it behind was just --

The guard stepped cautiously back, now one eye closely scrutinizing him.

Just what he needed, not a fat lot of hope one his grins would set the guard at ease. Not when it was so hard to muster it right now. The underpaid worker gestured down the corridor and like a good little soldier, he nodded and followed.

The guard pulled open the door and he went inside the next room and all of the oxygen left his lungs, the adrenal glands over his kidneys releasing a sudden non-stop flood. God, no.

Not. Now!

He lurched forward, pure willpower forcing his shocked body to move, as the sheer reality hit him, and coursed through his veins. Ears felt like the blood rushing though would burst out of the canals from the pressure, the chatter of other visitors drowned out by his thundering heartbeat.

"Window J. You have up to half an hour," the guard instructed.

Nick gazed down the row of cubicles; with each step, he counted, letting the numbers ground him in cold logic.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

Then he reached the hard plastic chair, planting his ass down before he lost all his willpower to complete this task. He could do this, if he saw her, it made everything real, less the living nightmare of the last few weeks.

A father's love-that he could understand in some twisted way. Love was more than an emotion; it was a driving definable force. A feeling that moved Heaven and Hell, responsible for the creation and taking of life. Nick swallowed; it was one of the things he clung to, the pure notion that kept him sane.

He felt the glass walls all around him, the privacy of the enclosure getting smaller and smaller, and his reflection barely noticeable within the pane of protection that stood before him. Any moment he'd be there-face to face with her. Instead of some imagined angel, the woman that made an intelligent man go mad with grief, his own brown eyes stared back. Not framed by the sickly hue of green, but that of a pathetic human being.

Breathe.

Don't think about the panel of glass, the hum of the air conditioner from above, despite how much the two motors sound alike. His back still hurt, a deep throbbing ache that kept him from running, not that he went outside very much these days. He didn't like being out in public. Still couldn't lay down when it came time to sleep, not even on his side; his recliner was his best friend, allowing him to rest not too horizontal.

The first few nights without heavy sedatives he slept sitting up. Until recently he was able to recline to a certain degree; the first few days with the yellow pills, it didn't matter, because he was too loopy to know what was awake and what was asleep. Those meds-well, they weren't part of reality.

He told Warrick it was because his back was too sore, and Greg was too nervous to question his con. Grissom, well the man never spent the night and by day four, no one was allowed to sleep over anymore. He concentrated too hard on slowing all his fight or flight response to notice the spasm right now. Got to keep the feeling that the walls weren't closing in at bay.

Took care of them, though down the drain would have been less tempting.

Now he was freezing.

He could do this. All it would take was her eyes, to connect with the other reluctant puppet in the sick game.

Before he could bail he saw movement, a guard escorting a woman, could be another visitor, never did see a picture of her, and Sara never did tell him any details about their conversation; the pure hatred in his friend's eyes made him back away. Tiny hair follicles covering re-sensitized skin itched.

Kelly Gordon sat down heavily across from him. Her eyes were dead.

He waved unconvincingly at her.

His heart felt ten times heavier as it pounded away. Every beat hurt, a hammer slamming him apart from the inside. Courage deep inside, same reserve he depleted just recently.

He motioned towards the phone, a somewhat still hand grappled with the receiver, eyes that pleaded with her to do the same.

Please.

She stared at it, then picked it up, not feeling, not exactly the human face that would hold all the answers.

"You're the one."

"Yeah," heavy twang, before he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah, back at you."

She's it...the reason behind twenty four hours of hell below ground. The pain, the slow agonizing torture of isolation and suffocation. The motivator that forced his choice---steel below his chin, or asphyxiation and the assault of thousands of tiny jaws.

For her, he was the one who got all the attention. The reason for all that manpower, the actual look into her 'plight.' No one cared about her case-the case that led to the uncontrolled vengeance of a father whose heart had been ripped apart, then blown up to bits. Nick was good at seeing both sides to the story.

A family legacy of two people who did unspeakable acts, while leaving the creation of things in a past life.

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry?"

Ice water and venom. Not the cure he had hoped for.

"Nah, you didn't do anything to me. And what your dad did, I... I guess it's cuz he loves you so much." Nick was being so brutally honest, but his words had the opposite effect.

Kelly hung up the phone, breaking him even more, the patchwork of his psyche Scotch-taped with hope and determination, splitting apart with the sudden halt of their conversation. He could barely keep it together; the built up salvation of this visit was falling apart all around him like the cracking of his Plexiglas prison ready to crush him.

He floundered, desperate, voice cracking. "Hey, Kelly. Kelly!"

He motioned at the phone, begging.

"Pick it up."

Kelly stared at him, at his effort. She picked the receiver back up, and he's already leaning forward, voice falling apart just like the rest of him.

"In a few years... when you get out. Don't take it with you." Nick forced it out, that sliver of hope.

Don't be eaten up by hate or fear. Once humanity and finding right with the world are gone it leaves nothing but a cynical wasteland left. Find that near insignificant strand and hold on to it for dear life. Never let it go.

Nothing. The key to the hole in his soul mocked him with her lifeless orbs.

"That's it?" Kelly's voice hard, indifferent.

Something else shattered in him, pain on every level. Stomping out that little ray of promise.

"Yeah. That's it."

Kelly looked to her guard. "We're done."

Then it was.

The door to one path slammed shut so hard he was left frozen, speechless. Phone still in hand, a slow stuttered breath. Stunned.

Nick sat there, feeling even more lost than when he stepped foot here.

"That's it." The whole reason for being here simple, but now so much worse.

He hung up the phone, feeling the control over his emotions crumble away.

No, not here. He wiped at his face, standing to get the Hell out of Dodge.

Escape another failure.

"That's it," he muttered quietly and nearly ran out the door.

* * *

God, his head hurt and he couldn't escape fast enough. His mind was filled with laughter at how stupid, stupid, stupid it all was.

The guard wanted him the Hell out as much as he longed to be outside the walls of the prison. Breathing was getting a tad out of control, cold sweat all over his body, chills up and down his spine. His freaking heart couldn't gallop any faster; one more damn door and he could break away. His legs were shaky and he didn't even pretend that his hands were ever going to stop trembling. He exited the correctional facility walking as fast as his rubbery limbs would carry him.

Down more sidewalks, everything about the visit catching up to him in spades.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The asphalt crunched under his boots, a beeline for his truck with Warrick waiting for him.

Nick nearly tripped over his own feet when that little reminder hit him.

Fuck.

He could just stand in the middle of the parking lot, acting for all the world like a man drowning without a lifeline. He couldn't face that 'told you so' expression of his partner's. Even Rick knew this was a mistake, waiting to put all the pieces back together, not letting him come alone.

Instead insisting he come along at least, and only after a morning spent yelling at each other about his _bright idea_. The compromise had been that Warrick tagged along ONLY if he waited for him at the vehicle. No need for a babysitter, and here he was, a freaking mess from a conversation that lasted barely two minutes. Nick forced himself to move at a slower pace, get his insides to calm down before he got physically ill.

As soon as his SUV was in sight, he saw Warrick straighten to his full height from the casual lean over the outside passenger door. His buddy pasted on a neutral face, the same one Nick was struggling with as well.

Except the more he tried to seem nonchalant, the more the mask just crumbled with the rest of his fragile hold on things.

Twenty seconds later he brushed by his partner and that now very worried expression.

"Nick?"

He ignored his name and slapped his arm down on the hood, the metal still warm from a recently shut down engine. Nick buried his head in the crook of his elbow, not willing to face anyone just yet. He'd man up to the miserable failure as soon as he quit all the damn shaking. Moisture threatened to burst out of his squeezed shut eyelids; no way he was gonna let that happen in front of Warrick.

That was until he felt a hand on his shoulder, and his name whispered in a hauntingly familiar tone.

He sucked in a hitched breath, feeling those tracks down his cheeks, chest heaving as he cried at the injustice of it all. Stupid sobs, made him feel every bit as weak as they sounded to his ears.

'Stop it. Just stop it.' He screamed, breathing ratcheting up even harsher.

"Come on, man." Warrick's voice cut through his misery.

Nick didn't pull away even while prodded. A squeeze of reassurance to his arm, a couple pats to the back. All it served to do was make him want to shrink away.

_That's it. Yep, that's it._

IT didn't help at all, just peeled away still healing wounds and spilled acid all over them. Burning, scarring, not that little light at the end of the tunnel.

"Nick. Please, look at me, Man," Warrick coaxed him.

A strong grip to his upper arm forced him to turn around reluctantly and Nick sniffed, wiping at his face with the end of his sleeve.

'Yeah, get a good whiff of failure, Brown. See how they fall,' Nick thought, face puffy and raw.

Warrick never relinquished his hold, thumb digging into his muscle. "You did it."

Nick cracked a smile, bowing his head before shaking it. "Yeah."

Warrick let his arm fall to his side, green eyes searching, trying to navigate the mine field. "Did you see her?"

Nick turned away, not willing to look at his friend right now. "Sure did."

"Not what you were expecting," Warrick stated dryly. No need for his buddy to sugarcoat things.

Nick wet his bottom lip, nibbling the inside of it, feeling the next wave of mortification. Another gulp for breath. He settled for shaking his head, not trusting his voice.

Warrick stood there, somewhat at a loss it seemed. He looked back at the prison. "Was it worth it?" he whispered.

Like a knife to his gut.

_We're done._

Nick lurched to the front of his vehicle and lost the bland breakfast of toast and coffee from that morning. Hacking and coughing, his wheels sputtering as he sunk to his knees.

"Damn, Nicky... I'm sorry," Warrick's words, then a fumble with the car door and hurried steps next to him.

He heaved and struggled for air now.

Hands on his neck, rubbing his back. "It'll be all right. Slow deep breaths now. Just like before"

Words that encouraged him back from the brink before.

"Take this water, dude."

Nick grabbed the bottle and rinsed out his mouth, his insides still all twisted and sick feeling, face clammy. The other man didn't bother with words, just steadied him as he stood. The world wobbled for a moment, and Nick leaned on his partner a bit as he was guided into the passenger side seat. Nick reeled from the events for a few moments trying to regain some dignity. His hands still trembled; he hadn't had one of these episodes since the first couple nights after the hospital.

This was bad.

Warrick crouched in front of him; jaw moving back and forth, thinking. "Man, I hate to say this, but do you want one of your pills?"

He shook his head vigorously.

"I know you hate them, but this warrants one I think," Warrick explained, tone simply concerned.

"Threw them all away," he croaked out.

"What? Damn, man. You quit cold turkey," Warrick accused.

He didn't look up, instead shoved his hands inside his jacket pockets.

"There are warnings against doing that, ya know." His partner's exasperated voice made him want to just crawl away.

"Just... just take me home," he asked, voice sounding so unlike him.

Defeated.

Instead of another 'Oh, Nicky,' or worse yet, a reprimand, he got something totally unexpected.

Warrick placed his forehead against the top of his head, both hands gripping his shoulders.

"You got to stop doin' this to yourself, Nicky. Just stop it."

Nick squinted, struggling to cope with the man begging him. Warrick hooked his arm around his neck and pushed Nick's chin towards his shoulder in an awkward hug. "Throwing yourself under the bus just to prove you can walk away after it runs you down doesn't prove a thing."

Nick wrapped his arms around himself, "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Enough of that too," Warrick sighed. "You have the right to be out of sorts for a while. You also have the right to demand to make mistakes, 'cause I'll be right here for ya. Telling you off afterwards."

Nick laughed slightly. "Okay... Can um,... ya know?" His words were muffled by the man's shirt.

Warrick scrambled away, rubbing at his eyes, obviously just as flustered.

"Yeah, man."

Nick exhaled, noting a new air of calmness. He felt drained, completely worn out. "You think you could drive? I'm wiped."

Warrick knew Nick was in no shape to get behind the wheel and nodded. "I can do that."

Nick threw him the keys, his partner going towards the driver side door.

"Thanks," he mumbled knowing his buddy heard him.

He meant it in more ways than one, though. Nick knew his friend understood that as well. That was the thing about partners; they knew you inside and out. Although Nick felt pretty unsure about his inner workings, he knew he could count on Warrick for anything.

By the time he got back to his place, he'd fallen fast asleep.

* * *

Finis


End file.
